


Getting to the Pointe

by icepixie



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dancing, Friendship, Gen, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-02
Updated: 2004-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-03 12:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icepixie/pseuds/icepixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Elizabeth are very drunk. John uses this to his advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting to the Pointe

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the allusion to the talent show in an [untitled piece](http://www.livejournal.com/community/john_elizabeth/4137.html) that mylittleredgirl posted to the John/Elizabeth community at LJ, and the ensuing discussion thereof.

She wasn't exactly sure how they'd gotten on the subject of her years of ballet. More than likely, it had something to do with the fact that they had each consumed two glasses of Athosian wine, which, as they had been warned, was quite a bit stronger than it felt at first.

But they'd meandered their way to that topic over the past several hours they'd spent sitting on the couch in her quarters (their excuse of going over staff evaluations had been discarded about halfway through the first glass), and unfortunately, Elizabeth Weir got quite talkative when she was tipsy. "I had seven years as a kid, then I did two years of pointe. But I got too involved with schoolwork in high school and had to drop it," she explained. "We did _The Nutcracker_ every year. I got to be a snow crystal and a lead flower my first year on pointe. It was very exciting."

She noticed at some point during her monologue that the corner of John's mouth was quirking up in the way that indicated he was extremely amused, generally at her expense. "What?" she asked.

The quirk expanded into a full-fledged grin. "I'm just imagining you in a pink tutu."

"I never wore a tutu." She was very confident, if the slightest bit slurred. "Oh, wait. Actually, I did have to wear one for my first recital." Now why had she admitted that? What the hell was in this wine, the Athosian version of truth serum?

He was still grinning. "You realize that now I have to make every effort to get ahold of your family photo album."

"Remind me never to invite you over to my parents' house."

John feigned surprise. "I didn't realize we were getting that serious. You want me to meet your parents?"

"John..." She tried to punch him, but missed the mark and hit the couch a little to the right of his shoulder. While she was processing the fact that her motor skills were not up to their usual snuff, John took the opportunity to snake a hand around to her stomach and begin tickling her. "Augh! Dammit!" She tried to squirm away from his fingers, but succeeded only in sliding off to the left, until she was nearly horizontal. As soon as possible, she was going to have to get Lieutenant Ford or Markham or _someone_ to teach her basic hand-to-hand combat. This was ridiculous. It wasn't even very consoling to think that, due to their size difference, she was probably drunker than John, even with all her experience at remaining alert and coherent after a few drinks at the dinners that were inevitably associated with the treaty negotiations she'd been part of in the past.

Finally, just when she thought she was, quite literally, about to bust a gut laughing, he quit tickling her. He allowed her a second to catch her breath before saying, "So can I count on you to do some kind of dance thing for the talent show?"

Oh, yeah. *That* was how they'd gotten on the subject of ballet. "No way. I haven't done any dance in years. And ballet shoes didn't exactly make my short list of things to bring with me."

"You could use socks. My little sister did sometimes."

He looked so completely guileless that she knew he was hiding something. "And why did she do that?"

"'Cause I hid her shoes." Damn that grin. It was far too infectious, especially when it was less than a foot away as he leaned over her on the couch. "Come on," he wheedled. Elizabeth felt another flash of sympathy for parents and elementary school teachers. This job had taught her far more than she ever wanted to know about keeping children, or adults who acted like children, in line.

"Forget it, John. You are not roping me into this."

He gave her a contemplative look. "Really?" Before she could react, he attacked her aching torso again.

"Ahh! Augh! All right, all right!" _Definitely_ getting someone to teach her hand-to-hand. John Sheppard deserved the mother of all ass-kickings for this.

His hands stopped moving around as soon as she agreed. "I knew I could convince you."

"You...bastard..." she wheezed. "This was only possible because I'm not anything resembling sober at the moment."

"I know." One day, she was going to wipe that smirk off his face... He sat up and held out a hand. Not without suspicion, she took the outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her back up. They sat there a minute, their shoulders barely brushing, before John stood, stretching like a cat. "I should probably go."

"Trying to save yourself before I get up enough energy to kick your ass for that underhanded trick?"

"Something like that. Also, there's that briefing at 0800 tomorrow that you seem so insistent that I be a part of..."

Dammit, she'd forgotten about that. Now she was going to have to deal with Sheppard _and_ McKay early in the morning, with what promised to be a terrific hangover. Some days just weren't fair. She contemplated standing up as well, but her body decided for her that it would far rather stay seated on the couch. She didn't argue.

He was at the door and had activated the motion sensor that opened it already when she said, "Good night, John. Sleep well. Take lots of aspirin."

He chuckled in the dim light from the hallway. "You too. Good night, Elizabeth."

As the door closed behind him, it occurred to Elizabeth that this was one of the rare times John had used her first name; perhaps that, along with the wine, helped account for the warm feeling that was spreading through her limbs as she sank back into the couch and closed her eyes.

A thought that she knew she would not be subscribing to come morning and sobriety flitted across her brain: it might be fun to warm up and see what she remembered from what had once been a large part of her life. She smiled a wistful smile that quickly turned mischievous. It would be even more fun to get revenge on John. She would have to devote her full attention to that at some point tomorrow, she decided as she drifted off into sleep.


End file.
